


Kiss The Baby Good Night

by lordhellebore



Series: Two bbs and a bear [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after Petunia took care of Severus's black eye, they meet on the playground by accident, and Petunia has to comfort him. Meanwhile, his home life is deteriorating. Part of the "Two bbs and a bear" verse. Sequel to "Playing House" and "Bruises".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss The Baby Good Night

Severus knows Lily won’t be there when he heads to the playground just around the corner from her house. She’s gone to the zoo with a friend’s family, her mother told him just a few minutes ago. But Severus doesn’t feel like going home. He’s been reading Mum’s old Potions magazines in his room all morning, trying to ignore the TV blaring from downstairs where Dad has been sitting in the living room and drinking beer ever since Mum left for work after breakfast.

Maybe there’ll be some other kids who’ll play with him, and if not, he doesn’t really mind playing alone. Everything’s better than staying home too much since Dad lost his job. 

When he arrives, he sees that the playground is empty except for a girl who’s sitting on one of the swings, her back turned to him. She’s blond and taller than him and swinging slowly back and forth, her blue dress billowing slightly around her thighs. Severus is glad it’s a girl; for some reason, he doesn’t seem to get along with boys. At least girls will ignore him instead of trying to start a fight. It’s why he won’t go to the playground in his neighbourhood anymore – the boys there don’t like him, and he has no desire for more bruises on top of the usual ones. 

Severus unconsciously raises his hand to his left eye, but stops shortly before he touches the skin around it. When he looked in the mirror this morning, it was still slightly yellow, but it faded quicker than usual. It must have to do with the salve Petunia put on it. Thinking of it, Severus suddenly feels flushed and even hotter than he already does in the summer heat. It happens whenever he thinks of the incident, and it completely confuses him.

He’s reached the swings and when he sits down on the second one and looks over to the girl, he recognises Petunia. Again, he flushes and almost gets up and leaves. But then he only pushes himself backwards and starts swinging, hands clenched tightly around the thick ropes, every now and then sneaking a peek at Petunia through the hair falling into his eyes.

He can’t tell if she’s looked over and recognised him, and he doesn’t want to talk to her to find out. Minutes pass in silence, the mid-day sun keeps burning down on them as they both swing back and forth lazily. It’s not so bad, Severus finds; it reminds him of when they watched TV together – awkward but better than most everything else other than playing with Lily.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Petunia gets up from the swing, but he knows that he doesn’t want for her to leave. So he jumps off the swing as well and runs over to the sandpit, where he spotted an old naked plastic doll without hair. He grabs it and turns around to Petunia.

“Wanna play house?” It’s a game he’s never played before – except for in his mind, alone – but girls usually like it, and it’s the only thing he could think of right now. Lily’s tried to convince him to play, but he’d always refused; he’d been too scared he’d slip up and share something of what he sometimes imagines, about himself and her family. Now, for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to mind that risk so much.

Petunia looks at him oddly, but then shrugs. “Okay.”

For a while, they both only stand there uncomfortably – it’s then that it occurs to Severus that at twelve, Petunia might feel too old for this kind of game – before Petunia comes over to him and takes the doll out of his hands.

“He needs a bed,” she says. “Can you get some grass?”

She herself rips some leaves off the trees, and soon, the doll is lying in some kind of nest made of grass and leaves in a corner of the sandpit.

“All right, how about I just made supper and you’re coming home from work.”

Petunia seems to have taken the lead, and Severus doesn’t mind; he’s still perplexed that she’s playing with him at all. Until last week, he’d thought she couldn’t stand him. 

He takes some steps away and waits while Petunia creates two shallow holes in the sand and fills them with little stones, then he returns to the sandpit. “I’m home,” he announces when he’s arrived, and Petunia gets up from where she’d been kneeling.

“You’re just in time for supper,” she says with a small smile. “Come on to the kitchen.”

They both sit down at the edge of the sandpit, and Petunia points to the stones. “I made shepherd’s pie.”

“Uh . . . it looks good.” 

They pretend to eat, and Severus knows there should be some kind of conversation, but he can’t think of anything to say. He tries to remember what was spoken when he had supper with her family and what he imagines regularly, but his mind is blank.

“How was work?” Petunia asks finally.

Severus has to think of Dad, how he’d come home from work at supper-time, moving slowly, head bowed, looking tired and unhappy. Sometimes, instead of coming to the kitchen, he’d just lain down on the couch and fallen asleep. 

“Exhausting.”

There’s more silence, time stretching like chewing gum, and Severus hates how this is exactly like supper at home, with everyone staring down at their plate when they could be talking and actually be together. Suddenly, he doesn’t really want to play this any longer. 

“I’m done,” he says.

“All right. Then I’ll do the dishes and you . . . do you want to read the paper? Or watch TV?”

“No.” He’s got a better idea – Lily would love it, he knows. “I’m going to brew a potion.” 

He’s practising often, and he knows many recipes by heart. Of course, they can’t afford the ingredients most of the time, but he’s good at pretending, and Mum actually praised him when he’d first had the idea to instead use stones, sticks, plants, and all kinds of things he can find outside, like snail shells and different feathers. They have a special shelf for them in the kitchen cupboard, and a list of the real ingredients and their practice counterparts. It’s the one thing they like doing together.

“A potion? You mean, like a magical one in a story?” Petunia is frowning and clearly skeptical, and it annoys him. The few times she’s heard him talk of magic to Lily, she’s always been like this. What does she think, that he’s stupid?

“Yes, a magical one. They’re real, I know some recipes. I can brew some Healing Potions and Confusing Concoction – that one makes you confused and forget things.”

“Don’t be silly,” Petunia says. She sounds like she’s speaking to a little child, and Severus doesn’t like it. “Magic doesn’t exist outside of stories.”

“Yes, it does!” Severus insists, upset now. “I’ve seen it! My mum’s a witch and she’s got a wand. She can do the dishes with magic or transform things into animals. And I’m a wizard.”

“Then where’s your wand?” 

Not for the first time, Severus wishes he already had it. It would make many things so much easier. “I don’t have one yet,” he has to admit.

“Really.” Petunia looks triumphant, as if she’d proven he was lying. He feels even more upset by now and just wants her to believe him – and why? She’s not a witch, she’s not as important as Lily.

“You only get your wand at eleven,” he tries to explain. “When I’m eleven I’ll be going to Wizarding School to learn how to perform magic, and Lily as well.” 

Petunia only shakes her head. “That’s nonsense.” 

Severus doesn’t know how to reply; he’s fuming inside, but can’t find the words. There’s silence again, as if they were both uncertain of what to do now. 

“It’s late,” she says in the end. “The baby needs to sleep.” She picks up the doll and looks down at it. “Your daddy’s gonna tell you good night.”

When she gives him the doll, Severus has no idea what to do with it. “Er, well . . .” Mr Evans ruffling his hair when he imagines him being his dad comes to his mind, but the doll has no hair, and anyway, he suddenly feels completely ridiculous. “Good night,” he says – more to the air than to his supposed child – before he holds the doll out for Petunia to take back.

“Not like that. You’ve got to kiss him good night.” Her voice is sharp and irritated. “Seriously, don’t you know _anything_?”

She sounds so much like Mum when she chastises Dad (or Severus for being _like_ Dad sometimes) that it makes him flinch instinctively. It was all a stupid idea: coming here, trying to play with her, thinking it could be different between them.

“It’s a stupid game anyway!” Severus throws the doll on the stone floor next to the sandpit as hard as he can. One plastic arm snaps and breaks off, making him flinch yet again. “You’re just like Mum, nothing’s ever good enough!”

He hasn’t even realised what he said when he turns and storms off to the swings where he jumps on the nearest one with both feet and begins swinging furiously. He needs to calm down, needs to get this out of his system or he’ll cry, and he hates whenever that happens.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Petunia looks at Severus on the swing, his back turned to her, long hair flapping in the jerky rhythm of his movements. For a little while, she feels indignant – really, what is his problem? – but then she has to think of what he said about his mother and the way he’d been during their pretend supper, as if he’d never played house before or never even had a proper meal with his family. It’s then that she remembers the evening four weeks ago when he had supper at her place: how he’d been silent the entire meal, only speaking quietly when her parents or Lily would address him, how he’d looked back and forth between them with those strange black eyes as if he was somehow retarded and didn’t know what was happening here. 

Maybe he really didn’t. The thought is frightening – it just isn’t _normal_! – and there is a moment when Petunia is tempted to simply stop thinking and leave. Go home, read one of her new books from the library or start knitting the second red sock to match the one she finished yesterday. She could sit outside with her needlework, have lemonade, and listen to music on the radio. Maybe they’ll play Frank Sinatra; she loves his new song _Love’s Been Good To Me_ , although most of the girls in her class find him boring and say it’s music for old people.

Then her eyes fall on the broken doll at her feet, and she knows she can’t do it, can’t just forget about this. Again, she looks over at the swings and Severus, thinks of their encounter a week ago and all that she believes she’s figured out about him. Suddenly, she almost wants to go to him and . . . what? She doesn’t like to apologise; admitting mistakes is something that’s always been hard on her.

She’s got another idea, though. A look at her wristwatch confirms that Mum should have left by now to help out at their church’s soup kitchen like every Tuesday; Petunia and Lily are old enough to make their own lunch once a week during the holidays. She hasn’t had anything yet, and she’s not sure about Severus, but he’s so skinny with his knobby knees and elbows that he could use some food anyway.

Her house is only around the corner, she’ll need no more than a minute or two to get there. If she hurries, she can be back within less than ten. After a last look at Severus, who’s still swinging, she leaves, running the short distance until home although it actually is too hot for that.

She’s been right, Mum is gone and the house is empty. Of course, Mum wouldn’t have said no if she’d been there and Petunia had told her what she wanted, but she prefers it this way. Quickly, she makes for the kitchen and gets the picnic basket out of the cupboard. As she remembered, there are four small bottles of lemonade in the fridge, and she takes two, along with two of the eggs Mum boiled this morning. It doesn’t take her long to fix four sandwiches, two with corned beef and two with cucumber, and put them into the basket along with the eggs, lemonade, the bottle opener, and some paper napkins. When she leaves again, she only hopes Severus will still be there. 

He is there; she can see him sit on the grass next to the swings when she steps through the gaps in the bushes surrounding the playground. Coming closer, she sees he’s sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bowed, and when she’s arrived next to him, she can hear that he’s crying.

Severus doesn’t seem to have noticed her, and there is a moment when she wonders if she shouldn’t just leave again – all of this is horribly awkward. Again, though, she finds that she can’t do it. How did he change so quickly in her mind from that terrible, annoying kid who was taking her sister away from her into an unhappy little boy? 

After some more hesitation, Petunia sits down next to him and slips one arm around him, feeling the bones of his back sticking out under her fingers. Immediately, Severus goes stiff under her touch.

“It’s just me, Petunia,” she says softly, and he relaxes again, but doesn’t stop sobbing. Is there anything else she could say or do? Nothing comes to her mind, and so she simply sits and waits, his shaking body hot against her, his face hidden behind a curtain of that greasy hair she still finds uncomfortable being so close to. 

Finally, after what feels like a long time, he’s silent, and after some more time, he looks up at her, eyes red, snot dripping from his too large nose.

“Here, take this.” She gives him a paper napkin from the picnic basket standing next to her. When he’s done blowing his nose, he looks at her with what could almost be called a pleading expression, his usual sullenness gone completely.

“Just don’t tell Lily.”

She could tell her, just out of spite, and there was a time when she would have. Now she can’t really imagine it anymore. “I won’t tell her anything, I promise.” 

Severus looks at her suspiciously, so she repeats it again. “I promise.”

“All right.” Taking a deep breath, he nods and then wipes his wet face with his hands. 

That seems to settle the matter for him, and Petunia is glad about it. She lets go of him and turns to the side to get the picnic basket. “Now, how about we have some lunch? Look, I brought sandwiches and lemonade.”

His eyes light up when he sees the food, and during the next minutes, Petunia watches him with satisfaction as he drinks his lemonade and eats three of the sandwiches and an egg. They don’t talk, only sit and eat, but this time, the silence doesn’t feel so uncomfortable. 

.-.-.-.-.-.

Severus comes home shortly before supper time. Petunia had left after they’d eaten, and he’d played alone in the sandpit for the rest of the afternoon, first building a castle, then practising brewing all the potions he knows by heart with his usual replacement ingredients and a hole he’d dug in the sand as cauldron. Brewing potions is soothing, the slicing and chopping of plants with Dad’s old pocket knife, the measuring of ingredients (although today, without the kitchen scales it’s more like guessing), and counting how often he has to stir. He can forget about everything when he does it, doesn’t have to think about anything else.

When he opens the door of their house, he can hear raised voices from the direction of the kitchen. He’s not surprised – Mum and Dad are fighting a lot more since Dad lost his job last autumn. It’s when everything got really bad.

“. . . just sit around on your arse all day and do nothing!” Mum’s yelling when Severus arrives at the kitchen doorway. She and Dad are facing each other, she’s got one hand pressed against her cheek, and on the floor, there’s dishes and what looks like potatoes and gravy. 

“You’re going to bed early, Severus,” Mum says into his direction, never really looking at him, and when he doesn’t move, she adds sharply: “Go. I’m not telling you again.”

 _`You’ve got to kiss him good night,’ Petunia snaps in Severus’s mind. `Seriously, don’t you know_ anything _?’_

No, he realises as he looks at their supper on the floor and at his parents – Mum still holding her cheek and glaring at Dad, Dad swaying slightly on his feet, breathing heavily – no, they don’t know anything. Not Dad, Mum told him that often enough, and not even Mum as a pure-blood witch. 

“Why can’t we be a real family? Why can’t you be normal parents?” It’s out before he can stop himself, and then his head is slammed against the doorway and he finds himself on the floor. 

“Go to bed. _Now_!” Mum’s voice is shaking, and he knows better than to object when she uses this tone.

His head is throbbing violently and he’s seeing stars, but Severus hastily struggles to his feet and makes for the stairs. The kitchen door is slammed shut behind him, and Mum starts screeching.

“Don’t you hit my son! Don’t you _ever_ hit him again or I’ll show you what pain is! I’ll hex you until you won’t know your own name!”

But she never does, Severus has learnt that much. She’ll only scream and threaten, never following through, and tomorrow, he’ll come down to breakfast to find new bruises on her and Dad looking neither of them in the eye.

Severus barely makes it upstairs without falling; he feels dizzy and has to steady himself against the wall several times. Upstairs, he foregoes brushing his teeth and heads straight for his room. When he’s finally in his nightshirt, he crawls into bed and blindly reaches for Bruno, clutching the teddy bear close to his chest. Maybe he can imagine Mrs Evans kiss him good night and blend out the sounds from downstairs. But when he closes his eyes, there’s only pain, nausea, and the overwhelming feeling of the world spinning around him. Severus swallows hard in order not to give in and throw up, taking deep slow breaths, one after the other. 

Slowly, after what seems like forever, the nausea and dizziness fade until they’re almost bearable, and Severus relaxes his tight grip on Bruno. He’s so tired all of a sudden and only wants to fall asleep. His head is hurting too much, though, he can still hear yelling from downstairs, and then there’s the sound of what must be more dishes on the floor. Although he’s used to it, it’s still hard not to imagine what might happen. Every time, he’s afraid Dad will hit Mum too badly or that despite her usually empty threats just maybe this time she’ll finally snap and hex him, do something she can’t take back. 

Again, he tries to ignore them and think of nicer things. Mr and Mrs Evans could now be watching TV together and holding hands like the couples he sometimes sees on the street. Or maybe they’re sitting on their terrace and drink iced tea and talk to each other softly, like Mum talks to him in his faintest memories or like Petunia did earlier this day.

_The thought of her makes him imagine her here with him, standing beside his bed with a serious expression on her pale, long face, wearing a blue dress just like the one she wore today. For a while, she only stands and looks at him before she sits down next to Severus and produces a damp washcloth._

_“Hold still, this will make it better,” she instructs before gently pressing it to his temple where it hit the doorframe. After a while, the throbbing pain in his head dulls slightly under the pleasant coolness, the dizzy feeling is nearly gone, and Severus sighs with relief._

_“Now the salve.” Petunia takes the washcloth away and instead, she’s now holding the same white-and-blue tube of salve she used on him a week ago. Like she did then, she carefully brushes all hair out of his face before she starts applying it._

_“Try not to sleep on this side tonight.”_

_When she’s done, she doesn’t kiss him – and why would he ever think of anything like_ that _? – but she strokes over his hair a few times before she gets up and leaves._

Severus opens his eyes to the darkness of his room, heart beating wildly in his throat. His head is hurting as badly as before, and he feels hot and confused, but not in a bad way. It’s like when she took care of his black eye, like when she held him this afternoon. She was like the big sister he imagines she could be, only even nicer.

Maybe the three of them can now be friends together, like when they’re siblings in his imagination. But even as he thinks it, deep down Severus knows he doesn’t want that, and somehow, he suspects that Petunia thinks the same. She and Lily are different in a way that he can’t explain, and while there’s no doubt that he likes Lily much better, she’s never given him this weird, warm feeling like her sister does, a feeling he doesn’t want to share even with her.

Over the next few minutes, Severus slowly dozes off, with his nose buried like usual against Bruno’s fur. Downstairs, there’s still more screaming, but he refuses to hear it; instead, he concentrates on Petunia’s soft voice in his mind and the way her fingers felt so nice on his back and hair.


End file.
